Every soldier to his trade—
Trigger sure and bayonet keen—
But we go forth1 to use a spade
Marching out from Nouex-les-Mines.
As I was sitting in the Café Pierre le Blanc helping2 Bill Teake, my Cockney mate, to finish a bottle of vin rouge3, a snub-nosed soldier with thin lips who sat at a table opposite leant towards me and asked:
"Are you MacGill, the feller that writes?"
"Yes," I answered.
"Thought I twigged4 yer from the photo of yer phiz in the papers," said the man with the snub nose, as he turned to his mates who were illustrating5 a previous fight in lines of beer representing trenches6 on the table.
"See!" he said to them, "I knew 'im the moment I clapped my eyes on 'im."
"Hold your tongue," one of the men, a ginger-headed fellow, who had his trigger finger deep in beer, made answer. Then the dripping finger rose slowly and was placed carefully on the table.
[23]
"This," said Carrots, "is Richebourg, this drop of beer is the German trench7, and these are our lines. Our regiment8 crossed at this point and made for this one, but somehow or another we missed our objective. Just another drop of beer and I'll show you where we got to; it was—Blimey! where's that bloomin' beer? 'Oo the 'ell!—Oh! it's Gilhooley!"
I had never seen Gilhooley before, but I had often heard talk of him. Gilhooley was an Irishman and fought in an English regiment; he was notorious for his mad escapades, his dare-devil pranks9, and his wild fearlessness. Now he was opposite to me, drinking a mate's beer, big, broad-shouldered, ungainly Gilhooley.
The first impression the sight of him gave me was one of almost irresistible10 strength; I felt that if he caught a man around the waist with his hand he could, if he wished it, squeeze him to death. He was clumsily built, but an air of placid11 confidence in his own strength gave his figure a certain grace of its own. His eyes glowed brightly under heavy brows, his jowl thrust forward aggressively seemed to challenge all upon whom he fixed12 his gaze. It looked as if vast passions hidden in the man were thirsting to break free and rout13 everything. Gilhooley was a dangerous man to cross. Report had it that he was a[24] bomber14, and a master in this branch of warfare15. Stories were told about him how he went over to the German trenches near Vermelles at dusk every day for a fortnight, and on each visit flung half a dozen bombs into the enemy's midst. Then he sauntered back to his own lines and reported to an officer, saying, "By Jasus! I got them out of it!"
Once, when a German sniper potting at our trenches in Vermelles picked off a few of our men, an exasperated16 English subaltern gripped a Webley revolver and clambered over the parapet.
"I'm going to stop that damned sniper," said the young officer. "I'm going to earn the V.C. Who's coming along with me?"
"I'm with you," said Gilhooley, scrambling17 lazily out into the open with a couple of pet bombs in his hand. "By Jasus! we'll get him out of it!"
The two men went forward for about twenty yards, when the officer fell with a bullet through his head. Gilhooley turned round and called back, "Any other officer wantin' to earn the V.C.?"
There was no reply: Gilhooley sauntered back, waited in the trench till dusk, when he went across to the sniper's abode18 with a bomb and "got him out of it."
A calamity19 occurred a few days later. The[25] irrepressible Irishman was fooling with a bomb in the trench when it fell and exploded. Two soldiers were wounded, and Gilhooley went off to the Hospital at X. with a metal reminder20 of his discrepancy21 wedged in the soft of his thigh22. There he saw Colonel Z., or "Up-you-go-and-the-best-of-luck," as Colonel Z. is known to the rank and file of the B.E.F.
The hospital at X. is a comfortable place, and the men are in no hurry to leave there for the trenches; but when Colonel Z. pronounces them fit they must hasten to the fighting line again.
Four men accompanied Gilhooley when he was considered fit for further fight. The five appeared before the Colonel.
"How do you feel?" the Colonel asked the first man.
"Not well at all," was the answer. "I can't eat 'ardly nuffink."
"That's the sort of man required up there," Colonel Z. answered. "So up you go and the best of luck."
"How far can you see?" the Colonel asked the next man, who had complained that his eyesight was bad.
"Only about fifty yards," was the answer.
"Your regiment is in trenches barely twenty-five yards from those of the enemy,"[26] the Colonel told him. "So up you go, and the best of luck."
"Off you go and find the man who wounded you," the third soldier was told; the fourth man confessed that he had never killed a German.
"You had better double up," said the Colonel. "It's time you killed one."
It came to Gilhooley's turn.
"How many men have you killed?" he was asked.
"In and out about fifty," was Gilhooley's answer.
"Make it a hundred then," said the Colonel; "and up you go, and the best of luck."
"By Jasus! I'll get fifty more out of it in no time," said Gilhooley, and on the following day he sauntered into the Café Pierre le Blanc in Nouex-les-Mines, drank another man's beer, and sat down on a chair at the table where four glasses filled to the brim stood sparkling in the lamplight.
Gilhooley, penniless and thirsty, had an unrivalled capacity for storing beer in his person.
"Back again, Gilhooley?" someone remarked in a diffident voice.
"Back again!" said Gilhooley wearily, putting his hand in the pocket of his tunic23 and taking out a little round object about the size of a penny inkpot.
[27]
"I hear there's going to be a big push shortly," he muttered. "This," he said, holding the bomb between trigger finger and thumb, "will go bang into the enemy's trenches next charge."
A dozen horror-stricken eyes gazed at the bomb for a second, and the soldiers in the café remembered how Gilhooley once, in a moment of distraction24, forgot that a fuse was lighted, then followed a hurried rush, and the café was almost deserted25 by the occupants. Gilhooley smiled wearily, replaced the bomb in his pocket, and set himself the task of draining the beer glasses.
My momentary26 thrill of terror died away when the bomb disappeared, and, leaving Bill, I approached the Wild Man's table and sat down.
"Gilhooley?" I said.
"Eh, what is it?" he interjected.
"Will you have a drink with me?" I hurried to inquire. "Something better than this beer for a change. Shall we try champagne27?"
"Yes, we'll try it," he said sarcastically28, and a queer smile hovered29 about his eyes. Somehow I had a guilty sense of doing a mean action.... I called to Bill.
"Come on, matey," I said.
Bill approached the table and sat down. I called for a bottle of champagne.
[28]
"This is Gilhooley, Bill," I said to my mate. "He's the bomber we've heard so much about."
"I suppose ye'll want to know everythin' about me now, seein' ye've asked me to take a drop of champagne," said Gilhooley, his voice rising. "Damn yer champagne. You think I'm a bloomin' alligator30 in the Zoo, d'ye? Give me a bun and I'll do anythin' ye want me to."
"That men should want to speak to you is merely due to your fame," I said. "In the dim recesses32 of the trenches men speak of your exploits with bated breath——"
"What the devil are ye talkin' about?" asked Gilhooley.
"About you," I said.
He burst out laughing at this and clinked glasses with me when we drank, but he seemed to forget Bill.
For the rest of the evening he was in high good humour, and before leaving he brought out his bomb and showed that it was only a dummy33 one, harmless as an egg-shell.
"But let me get half a dozen sergeants34 round a rum jar and out comes this bomb!" said Gilhooley. "Then they fly like hell and I get a double tot of rum."
"It's a damned good idea," I said. "What is he wanting?"
I pointed35 at the military policeman who[29] had just poked36 his head through the café door. He looked round the room, taking stock of the occupants.
"All men of the London Irish must report to their companies at once," he shouted.
"There's somethin' on the blurry37 boards again," said Bill Teake. "I suppose we've got to get up to the trenches to-night. We were up last night diggin'," he said to Gilhooley.
Gilhooley shrugged38 his shoulders, took a stump39 of a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it.
"Take care of yourselves," he said as he went out.
At half-past nine we marched out of Nouex-les-Mines bound for the trenches where we had to continue the digging which we had started the night before.
The brigade holding the firing line told us that the enemy were registering their range during the day, and the objective was the trench which we had dug on the previous night.... Then we knew that the work before us was fraught40 with danger; we would certainly be shelled when operations started. In single file, with rifles and picks over their shoulders, the boys went out into the perilous42 space between the lines. The night was grey with rain; not a star was visible in the drab expanse of cloudy sky,[30] and the wet oozed43 from sandbag and dug-out; the trench itself was sodden44, and slush squirted about the boots that shuffled45 along; it was a miserable46 night. One of our men returned to the post occupied by the stretcher-bearers; he had become suddenly unwell with a violent pain in his stomach. We took him back to the nearest dressing-station and there he was put into an Engineers' wagon47 which was returning to the village in which our regiment was quartered.
Returning, I went out into the open between the lines. Our men were working across the front, little dark, blurred48 figures in the rainy greyness, picks and shovels49 were rising and falling, and lumps of earth were being flung out on to the grass. The enemy were already shelling on the left, the white flash of shrapnel and the red, lurid50 flames of bursting concussion51 shells lit up the night. So far the missiles were either falling short or overshooting their mark, and nobody had been touched. I just got to our company when the enemy began to shell it. There was a hurried flop52 to earth in the newly-dug holes, and I was immediately down flat on my face on top of several prostrate53 figures, a shrapnel burst in front, and a hail of singing bullets dug into the earth all round. A concussion shell raced[31] past overhead and broke into splinters by the fire trench, several of the pieces whizzing back as far as the working party.
There followed a hail of shells, flash on flash, and explosion after explosion over our heads; the moment was a ticklish54 one, and I longed for the comparative safety of the fire trench. Why had I come out? I should have stopped with the other stretcher-bearers. But what did it matter. I was in no greater danger than any of my mates; what they had to stick I could stick, for the moment at least.
The shelling subsided55 as suddenly as it had begun. I got up again to find my attention directed towards something in front; a dark figure kneeling on the ground. I went forward and found a dead soldier, a Frenchman, a mere31 skeleton with the flesh eaten away from his face, leaning forward on his entrenching56 tool over a little hole that he had dug in the ground months before.
A tragedy was there, one of the sorrowful sights of war. The man, no doubt, had been in a charge—the French made a bayonet attack across this ground in the early part of last winter—and had been wounded. Immediately he was struck he got out his entrenching tool and endeavoured to dig himself in. A few shovelsful of earth were scooped57 out when a bullet struck him, and he leaned[32] forward on his entrenching tool, dead. Thus I found him; and the picture in the grey night was one of a dead man resting for a moment as he dug his own grave.
"See that dead man?" I said to one of the digging party.
"H'm! there are hundreds of them lying here," was the answer, given almost indifferently. "I had to throw four to one side before I could start digging!"
I went back to the stretcher-bearers again; the men of my own company were standing58 under a shrapnel-proof bomb store, smoking and humming ragtime59 in low, monotonous60 voices. Music-hall melodies are so melancholy61 at times, so full of pathos62, especially on a wet night under shell fire.
"Where are the other stretcher-bearers?" I asked.
"They've gone out to the front to their companies," I was told. "Some of their men have been hit."
"Badly?"
"No one knows," was the answer. "Are our boys all right?"
"As far as I could see they're safe; but they're getting shelled in an unhealthy manner."
"They've left off firing now," said one of my mates. "You should've seen the splinters coming in here a minute ago, pit! pit! plop![33] on the sandbags. It's beastly out in the open."
A man came running along the trench, stumbled into our shelter, and sat down on a sandbag.
"You're the London Irish?" he asked.
"Stretcher-bearers," I said. "Have you been out?"
"My God! I have," he answered. "'Tisn't half a do, either. A shell comes over and down I flops63 in the trench. My mate was standing on the parapet and down he fell atop of me. God! 'twasn't half a squeeze; I thought I was burst like a bubble.
"'Git off, matey,' I yells, 'I'm squeezed to death!'
"'Squeezed to death,' them was my words. But he didn't move, and something warm and sloppy64 ran down my face. It turned me sick.... I wriggled65 out from under and had a look.... He was dead, with half his head blown away.... Your boys are sticking to the work out there; just going on with the job as if nothing was amiss. When is the whole damned thing to come to a finish?"
A momentary lull66 followed, and a million sparks fluttered earthwards from a galaxy67 of searching star-shells.
"Why are such beautiful lights used in the killing68 of men?" I asked myself. Above[34] in the quiet the gods were meditating69, then, losing patience, they again burst into irrevocable rage, seeking, as it seemed, some obscure and fierce retribution.
The shells were loosened again; there was no escape from their frightful70 vitality71, they crushed, burrowed72, exterminated73; obstacles were broken down, and men's lives were flicked74 out like flies off a window pane75. A dug-out flew skywards, and the roof beams fell in the trench at our feet. We crouched76 under the bomb-shelter, mute, pale, hesitating. Oh! the terrible anxiety of men who wait passively for something to take place and always fearing the worst!
"Stretcher-bearers at the double!"
We met him, crawling in on all fours like a beetle77, the first case that came under our care. We dressed a stomach wound in the dug-out, and gave the boy two morphia tablets.... He sank into unconsciousness and never recovered. His grave is out behind the church of Loos-Gohelle, and his cap hangs on the arm of the cross that marks his sleeping place. A man had the calf78 of his right leg blown away; he died from shock; another got a bullet through his skull79, another.... But why enumerate80 how young lives were hurled81 away from young bodies?...
On the field of death, the shells, in colossal[35] joy, chorused their terrible harmonies, making the heavens sonorous82 with their wanton and unbridled frenzy83; star-shells, which seemed at times to be fixed on the ceiling of the sky, oscillated in a dazzling whirl of red and green—and men died.... We remained in the trenches the next day. They were very quiet, and we lay at ease in our dug-outs, read week-old papers, wrote letters and took turns on sentry-go. On our front lay a dull brown, monotonous level and two red-brick villages, Loos and Hulluch. Our barbed-wire entanglement84, twisted and shell-scarred, showed countless85 rusty86 spikes87 which stuck out ominous88 and forbidding. A dead German hung on a wire prop89, his feet caught in a cheval de frise, the skin of his face peeling away from his bones, and his hand clutching the wire as if for support. He had been out there for many months, a foolhardy foe90 who got a bullet through his head when examining our defences.
Here, in this salient, the war had its routine and habits, everything was done with regimental precision, and men followed the trade of arms as clerks follow their profession: to each man was allocated91 his post, he worked a certain number of hours, slept at stated times, had breakfast at dawn, lunch at noon, and tea at four. The ration41 parties called on the cave-dwellers with the promptitude[36] of the butcher and baker92, who attend to the needs of the villa-dwellers.
The postmen called at the dug-outs when dusk was settling, and delivered letters and parcels. Letter-boxes were placed in the parados walls and the hours of collection written upon them in pencil or chalk. Concerts were held in the big dug-outs, and little supper parties were fashionable when parcels were bulky. Tea was drunk in the open, the soldiers ate at looted tables, spread outside the dug-out doors. Over the "Savoy" a picture of the Mother of Perpetual Succour was to be seen and the boys who lived there swore that it brought them good luck; they always won at Banker and Brag93. All shaved daily and washed with perfumed soaps.
The artillery94 exchanged shots every morning just to keep the guns clean. Sometimes a rifle shot might be heard, and we would ask, "Who is firing at the birds on the wire entanglements95?" The days were peaceful then, but now all was different. The temper of the salient had changed.
In the distance we could see Lens, a mining town with many large chimneys, one of which was almost hidden in its own smoke. No doubt the Germans were working the coal mines. Loos looked quite small, there was a big slag-heap on its right, and on its left was a windmill with shattered wings. We[37] had been shelling the village persistently96 for days, and, though it was not battered97 as Philosophé and Maroc were battered, many big, ugly rents and fractures were showing on the red-brick houses.
But it stood its beating well; it takes a lot of strafing to bring down even a jerry-built village. Houses built for a few hundred francs in times of peace, cost thousands of pounds to demolish98 in days of war. I suppose war is the most costly99 means of destruction.
Rumours100 flew about daily. Men spoke101 of a big push ahead, fixed the date for the great charge, and, as proof of their gossip, pointed at innumerable guns and wagons102 of shell which came through Les Brebis and Nouex-les-Mines daily. Even the Germans got wind of our activities, and in front of the blue-black slag-heap on the right of Loos they placed a large white board with the question written fair in big, black letters:
"WHEN IS THE BIG PUSH COMING OFF?
WE ARE WAITING."
A well-directed shell blew the board to pieces ten minutes after it was put up.
I had a very nice dug-out in these trenches. It burrowed into the chalk, and its walls were as white as snow. When the candle[38] was lit in the twilight103, the most wonderfully soft shadows rustled104 over the roof and walls. The shadow of an elbow of chalk sticking out in the wall over my bed looked like the beak105 of a great formless vulture. On a closer examination I found that I had mistaken a wide-diffused bloodstain for a shadow. A man had come into the place once and he died there; his death was written in red on the wall.
I named the dug-out "The Last House in the World." Was it not? It was the last tenanted house in our world.
Over the parapet of the trench was the Unknown with its mysteries deep as those of the grave.
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1
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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2
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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3
rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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4
twigged
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| 有细枝的，有嫩枝的 | |
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5
illustrating
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的现在分词 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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6
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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7
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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8
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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9
pranks
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| n.玩笑，恶作剧( prank的名词复数 ) | |
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10
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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11
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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13
rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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14
bomber
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| n.轰炸机，投弹手，投掷炸弹者 | |
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15
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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16
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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18
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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discrepancy
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| n.不同；不符；差异；矛盾 | |
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thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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24
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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29
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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alligator
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| n.短吻鳄(一种鳄鱼) | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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dummy
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| n.假的东西；(哄婴儿的)橡皮奶头 | |
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sergeants
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| 警官( sergeant的名词复数 )； （美国警察）警佐； （英国警察）巡佐； 陆军（或空军）中士 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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blurry
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| adj.模糊的；污脏的，污斑的 | |
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38
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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ration
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| n.定量(pl.)给养，口粮；vt.定量供应 | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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43
oozed
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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44
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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45
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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48
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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49
shovels
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| n.铲子( shovel的名词复数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份v.铲子( shovel的第三人称单数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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50
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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51
concussion
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| n.脑震荡；震动 | |
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52
flop
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| n.失败(者)，扑通一声；vi.笨重地行动，沉重地落下 | |
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53
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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54
ticklish
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| adj.怕痒的；问题棘手的；adv.怕痒地；n.怕痒，小心处理 | |
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55
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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56
entrenching
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| v.用壕沟围绕或保护…( entrench的现在分词 )；牢固地确立… | |
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57
scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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58
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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59
ragtime
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| n.拉格泰姆音乐 | |
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60
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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61
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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63
flops
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| n.失败( flop的名词复数 )v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的第三人称单数 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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sloppy
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| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
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wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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66
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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galaxy
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| n.星系；银河系；一群(杰出或著名的人物) | |
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68
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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69
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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72
burrowed
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的过去式和过去分词 )；翻寻 | |
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73
exterminated
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| v.消灭，根绝( exterminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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75
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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76
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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beetle
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| n.甲虫，近视眼的人 | |
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calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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80
enumerate
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| v.列举，计算，枚举，数 | |
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81
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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82
sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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83
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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84
entanglement
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| n.纠缠，牵累 | |
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85
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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86
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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87
spikes
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| n.穗( spike的名词复数 )；跑鞋；（防滑）鞋钉；尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 )；偷偷地给某人的饮料加入（更多）酒精（ 或药物）；把尖状物钉入；打乱某人的计划 | |
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88
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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89
prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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90
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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91
allocated
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| adj. 分配的 动词allocate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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92
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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93
brag
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| v./n.吹牛，自夸；adj.第一流的 | |
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94
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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95
entanglements
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| n.瓜葛( entanglement的名词复数 )；牵连；纠缠；缠住 | |
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96
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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97
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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98
demolish
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| v.拆毁(建筑物等)，推翻(计划、制度等) | |
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99
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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100
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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101
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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102
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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103
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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104
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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